


Let Me Help You

by eden_raine



Category: Original Work
Genre: Brat, Caretaking, Enemies to Lovers, Gay, Grif is a twink, M/M, POV Switches, Past Rape/Non-con, Service Top, Slow Burn, Tsundere, Who knows if I'll continue the story, but Ambrose loves him, too many maybe, who cares
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-25
Updated: 2021-02-24
Packaged: 2021-03-15 17:22:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,705
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29687373
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eden_raine/pseuds/eden_raine
Summary: Original Characters-Grif has a hard night and goes to the only person he wants- his antagonist, Ambrose. And Ambrose wants to help.-No Sexual scene in this chapter-





	Let Me Help You

**Author's Note:**

> R*pe mention (Warning)  
> Hope you like it, didn't edit much lol <3

Ambrose: 31 yrs  
Griffin: 29 yrs  
\------  
I hear a sudden unexpected thump on my front door, my head jerking up in annoyance.  
“Whoever it is, go the fuck away! I’m busy!”  
I settle back into the couch and look back at the flatscreen TV in front of me, not bothering to care about who it was. Reaching for another spoonful of ice cream out of the carton, I hear a soft whisper at the door.  
“Please… I-I didn’t know where else to go…” *Sob* Another thump which must be the familiar voice’s body hitting the doorstep. “Please…”  
*Sigh* I set down the carton and pause my show, disappointed at the interruption but also curious to put a name to the broken voice. Curiosity hasn’t been part of my vocabulary in a long time.  
Hopping over the back of the couch, I swipe a hand over my tired face. When I open the door, a bruised and unmistakable form greets me by flopping at my feet.  
“Oh, shit. Oh, shit. Shit. What are you doing here, Grif?” Instinctually, I reach down and haul my nemesis to his feet, about to shove him out onto the street, when I see his tear-stained face.  
“Nice to see you, too, dipshit,” He sniffles, looking up at me through his long blonde lashes. Even crying, he’s the most beautiful person to walk this green earth.  
\------  
Ambrose holding all my weight like it’s nothing is easily the hottest that’s ever happened to me. Admittedly, not a lot of hot things have ever happened to me. And showing up at his door looking like I do was definitely praying on his more tsundere nature, but...  
“I… didn’t know where else to go,” I look down at his bare feet, and my cheeks heat up. Even his feet (feet!) look so masculine and strong, and I feel small in Ambrose’s presence, especially being picked up like he’s picking me up right now, princess style.  
“Hey- I can walk! I swear, put me down!” I protest, even as my body betrays me and I relax into his grip. He kicks the door closed behind him with us safely inside, and unceremoniously dumps me on the couch.  
“Oof,” I grunt, squeezing my eyes shut against the pain. When it has subsided and I start to look around, Ambrose is gone (into another room, presumably to find something for me?) and his apartment is nothing like I expected. Rubbing a bruise on my hip, I take it in: The brown faux-leather couch I’m currently occupying, abstract colorful art work on every wall, paused flatscreen above the fireplace across from me and the door, and paper stars hanging on strings from the ceiling. It’s the complete opposite of my own apartment, and yet still seems more my style than Ambrose’s. Whenever I see him in public, he’s always wearing very dark, nondescript clothing, whereas I take pride in being the most colorful as possible with my wardrobe while still looking okay.  
Taking into account the brooding, angsty version of him I always see, it was a surprise that he actually let me into his house. I was half expecting him to turn me away the second he recognized me as the number one opposition to his company.  
\------  
I stumble around the house, gathering up as much medical supplies as I can carry, all while deeply confused why I let the biggest crush of my entire existence, and the most knowledgeable deserter in the history of my entire company into my house. And the only thing I could worry about was whether he was hurt, what did he think of my living room, is the ice cream melting right beside him, does he think I’m messy or gross? Will he leave before I get back? I feel like a mess.  
Tentatively, I step back into the living room, and Grif is laying back looking pained, and staring at the stars on my ceiling. I want to kiss him.  
He turns his head slightly to look at me and gives me a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes.  
I try not to rush lest I scare him, but I still say, “You’re gonna have to remove your shirt so I can see the full extent of damage. And it’s okay if you don’t want to tell me what happened, but you do need to tell me where you hurt, okay?”  
Setting the supplies on the coffee table next to the ice cream, I help him sit up. He winces horribly at bending at the waist, and I’m sure I start to look angry.  
“Ambrose-” He whispers, voice breaking. He leans forward into me, and I hug him tightly around his upper back, whispering sweet nothings into his ear. This seems to calm him, so we stay there for a while, not saying anything, not wanting to break the spell.  
A couple minutes later we pull apart, and I rest my hands on his thighs while he wipes his eyes.  
\------  
He looks at me so fondly, I almost start crying again.  
“Stop looking at me like that. It’s not that bad.” I cross my arms and lean back into the couch.  
“Not that bad?! Not that bad?! You can’t even stand up!” He rises and stalks around the room. “Some motherfucker made you cry, and I promise you that they’re going to get it!” I start getting a little shaky, and he continues, not looking at me.  
“I don’t care who the fuck this loser is, I’ll fuck him the fuck up!” He stomps heavier and faster around the room. “Nobody. Nobody touches my Grif and gets away with it!” He pales and looks at me, “Did I say that out lo-... oh geez… are you okay? I’m- ‘m sorry, Grif, so sorry- I didn’t mean- I’m sorry..” Kneeling next to me and looking up into my eyes, I see confusion and regret at my silent tears, and I try to manage a smile. He looks even more saddened by that, and rubs his face with his hand.  
“I’m really sorry for scaring you, Grif. I won’t do it again. Promise.” He looks back up at me.  
“s fine,” I say, rubbing at my tear-stained cheeks, “you don’t need to coddle me, Ambrose. Do you still need me to take my shirt off?” He nods at that, so I do. I can feel him watching me, even as I get stuck with my eyes covered, and pain shooting up my spine.  
“Here. Let me help you, Grif,” He says as I try to squirm away. I don’t need any unexpected boners popping up just because Ambrose touches my torso.  
“No, thanks, I’ve got it! Keep your hands to yourself, ass.”  
“Ugh. Fine,” He resigns, “You know I’ll have to touch you to examine you, right?”  
“You don’t have to say it so lewdly, idiot.” I retort, my voice my by my bright yellow pikachu shirt.  
“My apologies, your Royal Heinyness, please correct me,” I can practically hear him sticking his tongue out at me, but I blush nonetheless.  
“Didn’t I tell you to stop calling me that?” I give up struggling with my shirt and the pain, “Can you help me, actually…?”  
“Of course I can, your Roya-” My shirt is pulled off, and I reach up to fix my hair, exposing a particularly nasty bruise, about the size of Ambrose’s whole hand. I immediately put my arms back down, and take in the damage on the front of my torso along with Ambrose.  
Honestly he either looks like he’s about to cry, punch me, pull me in for a kiss, or all three.  
Delicately, he reaches his hand up to touch my chest, when he stops just short and looks up at me in question. My breath catches, and I nod, so he continues. When he finally touches me, I exhale his name and close my eyes. He gives a deep chuckle and presses his palm in the middle of my chest. Another cold hand touches me on the cheek, and I jump, but keep my eyes closed.  
“I’m so sorry you’re hurt” He says after a minute, and it hits me right in the chest, so I let out an embarrassing sob. I cover my mouth with one hand, and he takes the other in both of his. He lets me cry as long as I need to (again), and when I open my eyes, he’s looking at me with a sort of love (for me?) and I take my hand away from him.  
“You can start your check-up now, or whatever.” I rasp, my throat sore from crying.  
He nods, and pats my arm reassuringly.  
\------  
It seems that we find a comfortable rhythm in my dressing his many wounds, so when he speaks, I startle and drop the bandaid I was putting on a cut on his back.  
“It was two guys,” He says, his voice still rough from sobbing, “They approached me in the club,” His voice breaks , and I tell him he doesn’t have to say it, but he insists.  
“And they… offered to buy me a drink. I- I refused them, and said I was going home. I started to walk toward the door- so then they knew I had come alone. It was stupid of me, I know. I know it was stupid. And I was naive enough to think they would let me go.”  
I feel so much anger, it’s hard to contain. But I know that talking about it is what Grif wants, so I bite my tongue and listen to his voice crack with regret and sadness and hurt, and I hug him from behind, resting my chin on his shoulder. To my surprise, he leans his head on mine, and takes a large, shaky breath.  
“They- grabbed me, I guess, and took me to the bathroom inside the club. Ambrose, I tried to fight them! I did! There were two of them and I tried to fight, and - and they hit me so I blacked out. And you know I didn’t want to, right? I promise.”  
His whispers are so sad, like he’s about to float away, but I won’t let him. I turn him back around and look straight into his eyes and say, “I believe you. I trust you, and I believe what you tell me is true. Thank you for telling me, Grif.” I need to make him believe me.  
“I know you’re telling the truth. And even if you hadn’t fought as hard as you say, it doesn’t matter. Because they hurt you, and you didn’t want it. I believe you, Grif, and your experience was real. I believe you.”  
His eyes well up with tears, and sobs start tearing themselves out of him for the third time that night. He leans forward, despite the pain I know he’s experiencing, and puts his head on my shoulder. As I press kisses into the nape of his neck, he whispers, “I wasn’t done, you dummy.” I hug him tighter, and get up to sit below him on the couch. He curls into a ball on my lap, and keeps his head tucked into my neck, his body not as warm as it should be.  
He takes a deep breath, and starts again. “I woke up on the floor, and it was really cold. It was so cold, Ambrose, and it hurt. I wasn’t in a stall. It was just the floor-” He stops and shivers, and I put my arms around him.  
\------  
I hear myself talking to him… but I’m far away. Far, far away, tucked into a cocoon in my mind.  
“So I layed there. Nobody came in, and I was alone for a long time. I felt lonely and- and not cared about,” I shiver again, “but also relieved, I guess, that nobody saw me… like that.”

Ambrose just holds me, and it feels so nice to be held without anyone wanting something from me (this probably tops him holding while I was clothed, doncha think?). I can feel him rustling, so I look up and start to move off his lap when he says, “No, please don’t go, I was just getting a blanket.”  
There’s a swoosh, and a navy throw blanket is on top of us both. Ambrose tucks it under my chin, then reaches his hand up to cup my cheek.  
“Is this okay?” He looks at me questioningly.  
“More than okay,” I sigh, as I lean into his hold and close my eyes.  
“You don’t have to tell me, but I was wondering how you got here? ...Also, how did you know where I live?”  
I lift my head to stare at him, then go back to nuzzling his neck. *Sigh*  
“I walked here, since the club isn’t that far away… you live in a pretty commercial area. About how I know where you live- I’ve known for some time. And soon you’ll learn where I live, if you’ll deign to drop me off at home… once I’m better?”  
I really hope I don’t overstay my welcome at his house, especially if I’m not contributing and just need to rest.  
“Of course you could totally drop me off tonight if you wanted to,” I amend, “I mean we are supposed to hate each other, and if this is just you taking pity on me, then I don’t really want it, I just came here because you were close, and I’m sorry if I’m intruding, you did say you were busy when I got here-”  
“Oh, you, just shush. Stop being a silly goose, and let me take care of you for as long as you’ll let me.” Ambrose stops my anxious rambling with a stroke on my head. My hair is getting too long, and I actually wonder if Ambrose might cut it for me. He did say take care of me… but maybe that’s too intimate? Who am I kidding, I’m sitting on his damn lap.  
\------  
My precious Grif sticks his nose into the crook of my neck, and I’m sure he can feel my pulse stutter at the cold and the proximity.  
“Would you like to sleep over? No pressure either way, I know you just went through a lot.” I mumble into the top of his head.  
“Yeah, I would like that, Amby.” I can feel his hot breath on my neck and desperately try to think about something other than this amazing creature in my arms. I doubt I’ll be able to stay mad at him over anything, even company business, after this-  
“Wait, what did you just call me?”  
He blushes even darker than before, “I thought since you gave me a nickname, I could give one to you?”  
“Oh, Griffin… you’re so hard not to love. Maybe we should try a different nickname though... But anyways,” I continue, even though I feel his face heat against my neck, “shower or no shower?”  
“Shower.”  
“Bed or couch?”  
“...Bed? I- It’s further from the door…”  
“Of course, Grif, no problem. Want to borrow some clothes?” I continue questioning as I stand and carry him to the bathroom in the same hallway as my bedroom, and flick the lightswitch on with my shoulder.  
Once he’s situated in the bathroom (trust me, I’m trying really hard not to think about it), I hurriedly start changing the sheets on the bed so they’re not absolutely disgusting anymore. Man, this boy is going to make me get my shit together, whether he knows it or not.  
I’ve been pining over Grif for some time now, since he got hired by my business, actually, which would make it probably four years.  
...And the fact that he went through all of this shit while I was watching TV and eating ice cream literal blocks away makes me so mad at myself, and mad at the dickhead r*pists, and mad at the universe, mad at everyone except for Grif.

Working through my anger and contact list for guys I can sic on the two shit stains who were at the club down the block tonight, I go through the house and pick up pillows and blankets for the couch; put away the ice cream; and get some nightclothes for the dream in my shower.  
I knock on the bathroom door and wait for an answer before saying, “I have some pajamas for you, where do you want me to put them?”  
I strain to hear the faint words that come back to me, “You can come in and put them on the toilet?”  
I open the door to a faceful of steam and humidity and make my way to the toilet, where I lay down the clothes. Then, I hazard a glance at the shower, seeing Grif’s figure illuminated through the Yin Yang shower curtain I bought thinking about him a few years back (yeah, I know I’m a sucker). I suck a breath in through my teeth.  
“Yell if you need anything, okay?” I say, and hope he knows I mean it.  
I start to go make the couch up with blankets, and hear a soft “okay.”  
\------  
With the hot water pounding against my back and nothing to distract me, it’s hard not to relive the events of just a few hours ago. I scrub mercilessly at my ass, trying to make the pain and memories go away. It’s not working.

When I was telling Ambrose, I omitted parts that I wasn’t ready to talk about yet, because I sincerely wish I had stayed unconscious the whole time. I’m almost wishing they had accidentally killed me.  
After I was… r*ped, when I woke up on the floor, I could feel their disgusting release slipping out of my asshole and onto my jeans, and it had made me cry harder then, and it makes me cry harder now. After I had laid on the floor for a long time, I had tried getting up, only to feel pain from my butt all the way to my head, where they had hit me. After that, I decided I really needed to get out of there, so I didn’t bother cleaning up… anything. I pulled up my jeans and flipped my hood over my head. I couldn’t bear to look at myself in that moment, so I forewent any mirror-looking.  
All I could think to do was find Ambrose, because I needed somebody- no, that’s wrong, I think I just needed Ambrose. 

But undressing myself- it hurt, both physically, and mentally, whenever a new bruise or cut caught my eye. I made myself look in his full-length mirror, and what I saw made me want to curl up into a ball for the rest of my life. But I settled for just doing it while I’m in the shower, I guess.  
Going top-down, I first saw my rogue head of blonde hair, mussed in a way that revolted me. Then, a small gash at my left temple, sad, tired eyes, and swollen lips.  
I saw three hickeys on my neck, one on my collarbone, and one on my arm.  
I saw two bruises on my chest, and a large one on my side, and two on either of my hips.  
I saw scratches on my legs, and felt achy everywhere.  
Then I climbed into the shower and cried.

Right now, I’m torn between asking Ambrose to bathe me, and plugging the drain and trying to drown. I settle on just asking Ambrose for help.  
“Ambrose?” I whisper, torturing myself more by pretending he doesn’t care.  
“Ambrose?” I say a little louder, my voice returning to me. “I- uh, need something?”  
“Ambrose!” I cry, working myself into a hysteria, “Ambrose…!”  
He slams the door open. “What’s wrong, Grif? Do you need something?” I can hear him get closer with every word.  
“You…” I whisper under my breath, and hiccup, trying to suppress a cry of emotion.  
“Grif? Will you tell me what’s up?” Ambrose continues, not having heard me, standing right on the other side of the shower curtain, so close I can feel him.  
“You.” I say more boldly this time, “I just needed you.”  
“Do you want to get out of the shower and talk about it?”  
”Do you want to get in the shower with me?” I plead.  
“I don’t think that’s a good idea, Grif. But I do want to see you when we’re talking. Have you washed?”  
“Not enough. Never enough. Never enough, Ambrose. It’s never going to be enough! I need to get them out of me, they’re all over, and I’m ruined, and I’m horrible,” *hiccup* “And I wasn’t strong enough to keep them away!”  
*Hiccup* *Crying*  
Suddenly Ambrose is pulling aside the shower curtain (It’s a pretty nice shower curtain, considering he probably picked it out) and stepping into the tub with me, fully clothed. From where I’m sitting on the floor of the tub with my knees up to my chest, he looks like a tall, muscular, giant. Then, he squats down and picks me up so our chests are touching and my legs are wrapped around his waist. Then he steps out of the shower, and puts a towel over my shoulders before carrying me to his bedroom.  
\------  
I set my charge down gingerly, careful to keep my eyes above his waistline, and say, “I’ll be back with the clothes I picked out for you, don’t go anywhere, okay?”  
He slowly nods, still processing, and I rush to the bathroom. There, I turn off the shower, pick up Grif’s own clothes (he can tell me tomorrow whether to burn them in the fireplace or not), and the ones I’ve picked for him. I put his clothes into the laundry hamper, and go to knock on the bedroom door when it’s opened right in front of me.  
Grif is blushing profusely, and when I give him the clothes, he takes them and hurriedly closes the door.  
Stumbling back into the living room and turning off lights as I go, I feel a bone-tiredness hitting my body, and I collapse into the couch to fall asleep.  
\------


End file.
